


An Unusual Situation

by sahiya



Category: White Collar
Genre: Concussions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal knew there would be a lot to get used to with the new handler, but he didn't realize quite how much until he fell off a fire escape in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unusual Situation

**Author's Note:**

> Getting this out right under the wire before the new episode, after which I'm sure to be jossed. Thanks to Yamx for the beta (and for a very fast turnaround!).

There were a lot of things for Neal to get used to with the new handler. The biggest was that David Seigel didn’t seem to have any interest at all in Neal outside the office. Peter had picked Neal up probably two or three times a week, and whenever he did, he’d take a few minutes to chat over June’s Italian roast. At least once a week, Neal and Peter had gone for drinks, sometimes with Diana and Jones, sometimes on their own. And a couple times a month, the Burkes had invited him over for dinner at their house. 

Seigel wasn’t interested in any of that, and Peter - well, Peter had definitely stepped back a bit. Neal was pretty sure that in a couple months, when Peter was less worried about undermining Seigel, they’d start seeing each other outside the office again. But for now, there were some pretty big holes in Neal’s social calendar. 

But that was okay. Neal was a people person, but he could deal with some extra alone-time, too. And Seigel wasn’t bad; he wasn’t Peter, but he also wasn’t Kimberley Rice. So even though Neal missed working with Peter, he didn’t think about it too much. 

At least, not until he found himself sitting in the back of an ambulance at three in the morning after an op gone wrong, puking into a bag one of the EMT’s was holding. His ribs and his head were both screaming at him, and all Neal could think was that now, right _now_ , would be a great time for Peter to suddenly have one his patented gut feelings. 

“Definitely a concussion,” the EMT who wasn’t holding Neal’s barf bag said crisply. “And with that fall you took, you’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

 _It was only one story_ , was what Neal wanted to say, but his body wouldn’t let him. It took him a few seconds longer to stop heaving, and then he let one of the EMT’s ease him back. She offered him a bottle of water, which Neal accepted with a shaking hand. He rinsed and spit, and then took the smallest possible sip. 

“Hey, Caffrey, how’re you doing?” Seigel asked, hopping into the back of the ambulance.

“Been better,” Neal rasped. Worse, too, he supposed, but not often. It hadn’t taken that op very long at all to go completely pear-shaped. 

“They’re going to give you a lift to the hospital, all right?” Seigel said. “I’ll be right behind you in the car. Agent Jones is going to take the van back to the Bureau.”

Neal nodded. He managed another sip of water and then said, “Could you call Peter?”

Seigel frowned at him. “Why?”

Neal opened his mouth, then realized he didn’t have an answer to that beyond, _Because Peter’s who I call_. Under better circumstances, he’d probably have been able to come up with something, but at the moment, he was drawing a blank. He covered up his disorientation by sipping more water, but Seigel didn’t look fooled.

“I’ll make my report to Agent Burke in the morning,” Seigel said. “You’re probably going to be on leave for a couple of days. I’m sure he’ll find some time to come see you. But I don’t think we need to get him out of bed for this.”

“Right,” Neal said, a little numbly. It was just some bruised - well, possibly cracked - ribs and a concussion. He didn’t _think_ his wrist was broken, and the EMT had said that his shoulder was only strained, not dislocated. Still, he _hurt_ , and even if they weren’t hanging out much outside the office, Neal liked to think that Peter would want to know. But he supposed Seigel was right; he’d see Peter soon enough, maybe even tomorrow morning. It was just the pain talking. Pain, and the fact that pretty much every bad thing that’d happened to him the last two and a half years, Peter’d been the one to see him through it. 

“See you there, Neal,” Seigel said. He gave Neal’s knee a friendly pat and ducked out of the ambulance. 

At three in the morning, the ride to the hospital was quick. Neal felt too awful to argue as they poked and prodded at him. But at least coming in by ambulance meant he didn’t have to sit in the waiting room for hours. Once they arrived at the ER, he barely had time to catch a glimpse of Seigel, and then they were whisking him away for a CT scan. 

Everything after that was a blur of bright lights that made him flinch and faces he didn't recognize. They mostly belonged to people asking him his name, date of birth, and address. At one point he accidentally gave Nick Halden’s date of birth, and they started to look worried. But he corrected himself quickly, and then they left him alone for a while. 

By the time the doctors were done running their tests, Neal felt like he was on the verge of tears. He was exhausted and still in a lot of pain; he’d puked up the pain pills they’d given him when he first arrived, and they hadn’t wanted to try again right away. All he wanted was to go home. But home right now was an empty house, since June was on vacation and Mozzie had disappeared a few days earlier on one of his jaunts, and he didn’t think that was going to be happening. Six months earlier, he reflected miserably, while lying on his gurney in a hospital hallway, Peter would have taken him to the house in Brooklyn. El would’ve made him soup, and Peter would’ve nagged him about taking his pain meds (the hypocrite) and watched all the caper flicks Netflix had on Instant Watch with him. 

Now, with Seigel as his handler, Neal couldn’t really see that happening. He was probably looking at a couple days in the hospital. He hated hospitals. 

It was at that point that someone showed up with some more Vicodin for him. Neal swallowed the pills cautiously and then lay back while they wheeled him up to the ER. He still felt sick but better than he had earlier; hopefully they would stay down this time. 

Seigel was still there. Neal supposed that it was bad form to leave before you knew if your CI’s brain was intact. The orderly got Neal settled on the bed, then handed Seigel a bag that contained the shirt and pants he’d thrown up on. 

Seigel made a face. Neal felt an irrational stab of resentment. Peter would’ve never _made a face_.

“How you doing? Feeling better?” Seigel asked, sounding far too chipper for the emergency room at four-thirty in the morning. The only response Neal could muster was a one-armed shrug, and he closed his eyes after that, partly against the overhead lighting and partly so Seigel wouldn’t try to talk to him.

He’d only been back for a minute or two before Seigel’s phone rang. “Seigel,” Neal heard him say. Then, “Agent Burke, how did you . . . He did. I see. . . . No, Caffrey’s fine, he’s awake and talking. We’re just waiting on the results of the CT scan, and they were talking about admitting him for observation.” He paused again. Neal opened his eyes, just in time to catch Seigel frowning at him. “Yes, of course, sir. Just a moment.” He held the phone out to Neal. “It’s Agent Burke.” 

Neal fumbled the phone to his ear. “Hi Peter.” 

“Jesus, you sound terrible,” Peter said. “I’d ask how you were, but that’d be a stupid question. How not all right are you?”

“I’m . . .” Neal paused. “Better now,” he finally finished. “They gave me Vicodin.”

“I damn well hope they did,” Peter said. Neal heard him take a deep breath. “Sorry. I just got woken out of a sound sleep by Jones’s phone call. I’ve got some adrenaline pumping right now.”

Jones had called him. Seigel must not have let him in on the “don’t bother Peter” plan. “You should go back to sleep,” Neal said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded slurred. 

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Hell, it’s 4:30, I was going to be up in an hour anyway. I’m getting dressed, I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

“Be . . . here?” Neal asked, bewildered. 

“Where else?”

“Caffrey,” Seigel said, before Neal could respond, “let me speak with Agent Burke.”

“Hang on, Peter,” Neal said, and let Seigel take the phone. He lay there, eyes closed, and listened to Seigel’s side of the conversation. Seigel kept his voice down, but Neal was pretty good at hearing things he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Sir,” Seigel said, “it really isn’t necessary for you to come down here. Caffrey’s fine. If you give it a few hours, they’ll have him in a room. . . . Just for a couple of days, they said, until he can walk in a straight line again. . . . I understand that, Agent Burke, but with all due respect, this is why you chose me, isn’t it? . . . Yes, sir. Thank you.” 

Seigel hung up. Neal cracked his eyes open, watching as Seigel seated himself in the bedside chair. He looked at Neal and shook his head. “You and Agent Burke,” he said, and then stopped. He shook his head. “Agent Burke said he’d be by over his lunch break,” he said at last. “They should have you in a room by then.”

Neal nodded. Neither of them said anything until an orderly came to move Neal upstairs. Seigel excused himself then, to run home and change before he headed into the office, but he told Neal he’d come by that evening. 

By some miracle, Neal had a room to himself. There was a second bed, but it was empty. He asked the orderly to turn the lights off on his way out the door, and then he lay in blessed darkness. His head still ached, but at least there weren’t harsh fluorescent lights drilling holes into his skull. He managed to find a position that didn’t make his ribs hurt and closed his eyes. 

He woke to the smell of coffee. He still felt nauseated and the coffee smell wasn’t altogether pleasant. But then he opened his eyes, realized who the coffee belonged to, and suddenly didn’t care at all. 

“Hey,” Peter said. “How are you?”

“I’m . . . okay,” Neal said, though he suspected, by the look on Peter’s face, that he didn’t look okay. “Did I sleep all morning?” He lifted his head, squinting.

“No,” Peter said. “It’s only about eight-thirty.”

Neal frowned. “Peter. Did you lie to Seigel?”

Peter mock-glared at him. “I didn’t _lie_ ,” he said. “But after I got off the phone, El told me I was being an idiot. She actually will be by at lunch,” he added. “I’m supposed to find out before I go if you’re allowed solid food yet.”

“I don’t know if I want solid food yet,” Neal said. He winced, remembering. “I threw up in the ambulance. Still kind of queasy.”

Peter shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Neal frowned. “Not your fault I got thrown off a fire escape.”

“I know, I’m just . . .” Peter shook his head. “Never mind. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me, too,” Neal said. He looked down at his hospital blanket and picked at some of the fuzz. He wanted to ask if Peter might consider letting him come stay at the house, or maybe spending a night or two at June’s, but he also didn’t want to put Peter in the position of having to tell him no. He had the feeling that Agent Seigel probably wouldn’t love the idea. 

After a moment, Peter’s hand found his on the blanket and covered it. Neal tried to take a deep breath and came up short against his protesting ribs. He was in the hospital, and that sucked, but he wouldn’t be on his own. He’d be okay. 

“I should be going,” Peter said. “Nine-thirty meeting.”

“The life of an administrator,” Neal said with a smile. 

“Tell me about it,” Peter sighed. “But I’ll be back this evening, as soon as I can get away. Feel better, all right?”

Neal nodded. He watched Peter go and then lay there, exhausted and vaguely ill, until sleep claimed him again. 

The second time he woke, it was to the sound of someone typing. He blinked his eyes open to see Elizabeth Burke sitting in his bedside chair, laptop open on her knees, typing away. “El?” he said. He made a valiant attempt to lift his head before deciding that being able to do that was overrated anyway. 

She looked up and smiled. “Hey there,” she said quietly. “How are you feeling?”

Neal managed a smile. “Like I’ve been run over.”

“You sort of look like that, too,” she said, still smiling, but definitely looking a little worried. “You slept through the hospital bringing your lunch, but I have something better anyway, if you feel up to it.”

“Oh?” Neal said, trying to sound more interested than he felt. 

She held up a plastic Chinese take-out bag. “Won ton soup. Want some?”

He didn’t, really. But he thought he probably should make an effort. “Some of the broth, maybe,” he said. “I don’t think I’m up for the won tons.”

“Sure,” she said. “Just a sec.” She disappeared out the door, and then came back holding an empty coffee mug. She poured some of the still-steaming broth into it while Neal raised the head of the hospital bed up. She handed the mug over to him, and he closed his eyes and breathed it in, then ventured to take a sip. “Good?”

“Yeah,” he said, a little surprised to find that it was. “Thanks.” He settled back against the thin hospital pillows with the mug cradled against his chest. El closed her laptop and set it aside, then curled up in the bedside chair. Neal knew he should say something, make some sort of conversation, but drinking his broth was about all he could handle at the moment. Especially since he wasn’t at all sure what he _should_ say to Elizabeth, after everything. 

A minute or two went by in silence. “I hope you don’t mind I came,” El said at last. “Being on your own in the hospital isn’t fun, and I thought you might like some company.”

“Yeah,” Neal said. “Thanks.”

More silence. Neal hid his face behind his mug of soup. “So, um,” he said at last, “how’s business been?”

“Fine,” El said. “It’s been fine.” She drew a sharp breath, then, and Neal glanced at her. “Neal, I have something I need to say to you, and I realize this might not be the best time, but I don’t - I just don’t see you that often anymore, and I want to say it while I can, all right?”

Neal lowered his mug. “El, if it’s about Peter - he’s a lot safer as ASAC than he was in the field, and I promise I won’t -”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That wasn’t it. Neal,” she swallowed, “I’m sorry. For asking you to lie to Peter, for the way I talked to you while Peter was in prison. I prodded him into taking the promotion, and I can’t really be sorry about that, but I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“I didn’t get hurt,” Neal said. El shot him a disbelieving look, and Neal shook his head, albeit very carefully. “This didn’t have anything to do with that,” he said. “I’d have gotten thrown off that fire escape whether it was Seigel or Peter with me.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But if Peter was still your handler, you wouldn’t be in the hospital right now. You’d be home, either your home or our home. And last night -”

“I was fine,” Neal said. “Well, mostly fine.”

“You weren’t fine,” El said sharply. “And Peter certainly wasn’t.”

Neal frowned. “What do you mean?”

El shook her head. “It made him crazy. That you’d gone out on an op without him and gotten hurt. That he only found out about it at all because Jones called him, knowing that Seigel wouldn’t. That he didn’t have any reasonable right to expect Seigel to call him. It all just . . . it made him crazy.”

Neal was quiet. He set his mug aside, then wished he hadn’t, because now he had nothing to do with his hands. “We’ll be fine,” he said. “It’s just an adjustment. You don’t need to be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“Maybe not that, but the rest - asking you to lie to Peter, the way I talked to you when -”

“I understood,” Neal said. “I didn’t take it personally.” Much, anyway. Though it had stung when she’d implied he was only busting his ass to free Peter so he could keep his deal. 

She gave him a rueful smile. “I’m trying to apologize to you, Neal. You’re not making it easy.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I just don’t think you have anything to apologize for. Not to me.”

“Well, I do,” she said. She sighed and looked down at the mattress, picking at the fuzz on the hospital blanket, much as Neal had earlier. “The truth is, Neal, that I’ve been a mess. Peter’s car accident kind of shoved me over the edge, but I think now that I’d been building to that point for a long time. Since Keller, at least, and maybe before then.” She bit her lip. “I never . . . saw anyone after Keller. Peter tried to get me to see one of the Bureau’s counselors, but I told him I didn’t need to. It was scary, but I was fine. I think that was a mistake.”

“Oh,” Neal said. 

“But I am seeing someone now,” she said, straightening up. “Not one of the Bureau’s counselors, someone that a friend of mine recommended. It’s helping. And it’s made me realize how unfair I’ve been to you these last few months. I didn’t feel like I had any control over my life, and that scared me. I couldn’t blame Peter for it, so I blamed you, and that wasn’t fair. So.” She drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry, and I hope we can be friends again.”

To Neal’s horror, his throat felt suddenly tight. He had to swallow twice before he could say anything. “I’d like that,” he managed. El slid her hand across the bed to take his and squeezed it. Neal blinked. “And I’m sorry, too, for - for everything.”

“Okay,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sorry, and you’re sorry. Let’s just call it good.”

Neal nodded. El stood up and bent down to give Neal a hug. He pressed his face into her shoulder, still horrified at how emotional he’d gotten. He supposed that between the concussion and the drugs, it wasn’t that surprising, but it was still embarrassing. El just handed him a box of tissues, though, and sat back down, covering his hand with hers again. Neal wiped his eyes, then blew his nose. 

“You want the rest of your soup?” El asked after a moment. 

Neal shook his head. “No, thanks. Maybe in a little while.”

She nodded. “I can go, if you want,” she said. “If you’d like to sleep. But I don’t have any meetings this afternoon, and I can send emails and place vendor orders just as well from here as from my office, if you’d like me to stay.”

“I would,” Neal said. “Though I can’t promise much in the way of conversation.”

She smiled. Neal felt a part of him that had been tense for months relax. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d given up hoping that she’d ever smile at him like that again. “Good,” she said, and squeezed his hand one last time before letting go.

Neal spent the afternoon napping off and on to the reassuring sounds of El working on her laptop. When he woke up for long enough, she read to him out of a _People_ magazine she’d picked up in the giftshop. Around four o’clock, his doctor came by to examine him and, glancing at Elizabeth, asked again if he had anyone to look after him at home.

“Not at the moment,” Neal said, carefully _not_ looking at El. 

His doctor nodded. “We’ll keep you one more night, then, just in case, but you should be able to go home tomorrow. But absolutely no activity for one week. Don’t read, don’t use your computer or your smartphone, don’t do anything that might tax your brain. Not that you’re likely to want to; your head is going to hurt for a while yet. But I’m absolutely serious - one week, no less. Got it?”

“Got it,” Neal sighed. 

By six o’clock, he was feeling marginally better, though still pretty woozy, and he had the feeling that the Vicodin was masking one hell of a headache. He was also tired, but doing his best to look alert. He didn’t want El to tell Peter not to come. 

But Peter, when he finally showed up about seven o’clock with a bag of take-out in hand, wasn’t alone. Agent Seigel was just behind him. 

Neal didn’t know what he’d expected - Seigel had said he’d be by tonight. And he should be grateful, he supposed, that Seigel was interested in his well-being. It was a lot better than having a handler who wasn’t, after all. But he’d been looking forward to time with just El and Peter, especially now that he and El had managed to put everything behind them. It’d been a long time since he’d had that. And now there was, to Neal’s mind, an unwelcome interloper in their midst. 

“Hey there,” Peter said as he entered. “How’s the patient? Hi hon,” he added, as El rose to greet him with a kiss. “David, this is my wife Elizabeth.”

Neal was watching for it, so he saw the moment that Seigel’s eyebrows went up. But he covered well enough that Neal doubted El or Peter had noticed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Burke.”

“Call me Elizabeth, please. Nice to meet you, too.”

There weren’t enough chairs to go around, so Peter leaned against the bed, waving Seigel off when he tried to get him to sit. “I sit all day now,” Peter said. “How’re you feeling, Neal?”

“Better,” Neal said. “Just kind of out of it.”

“We’ve had a very low-key afternoon,” Elizabeth said, smiling at him and reaching out to pat Neal’s hand where it lay on the bed. 

Neal glanced at Peter just in time to catch a look of relief pass over his face. Neal had wondered how much Peter had really noticed about what was going on between him and El. Neal himself had done his best not to let on - he’d mostly felt like he deserved it, and he didn’t want to come off like he was complaining - and Peter had been in prison for a lot of it. But maybe El had let on more at home, because Peter certainly looked happier than usual at seeing them together. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Peter said, smiling at the two of them. 

Seigel cleared his throat. “We brought take-out,” he said, rather pointedly. 

“Oh, right,” Peter said. “Thai food from the place near the office. We got you that soup you like, Neal.”

“Thanks,” Neal said, accepting the container Peter handed him. Peter and Seigel spread the rest of the food out on Neal’s bedside tray. Neal moved his legs so that Peter could actually sit on the bed, and for a few minutes there were mostly just sounds of contented munching and the occasional, _Could you pass me the . . ._ The broth of the tom yum soup had quite a bit more flavor than the wonton soup had, but Neal found that he was okay with that. He manage to get through most of the broth and even a few pieces of chicken before deciding that he was done. He set it aside, then, and lay back.

“So, what’s happening with Jackson?” he asked, deciding it was probably a good idea to check in about the case that’d landed him in the hospital. 

Seigel grimaced. “Not much. We spooked him last night, and now he’s gone to ground. I realize you’re going to be on leave for a while -”

“His doctor said absolutely no activity for a week,” El interjected. 

“- but I was hoping we might use your street contacts to find out if anyone’s seen him.”

Neal nodded. “I can see if Mozzie can find out anything. Don’t worry, I won’t exert myself,” he added, glancing at El. 

“See that you don’t,” she said sternly, and reached over to brush a lock of hair out of Neal’s eyes. “Your brain is way more important than any case.”

“That is certainly true,” Peter said. “We’ll get Jackson somehow. Don’t worry.” He patted Neal’s knee reassuringly, then left his hand there, just resting on it over the blankets. Casually, almost as though he just didn’t think to move it, but Neal knew better. 

So did Seigel, Neal was pretty sure. 

Visiting hours were over at eight-thirty. By then, Neal was pretty tired. He didn’t have much hope that he’d get any decent rest that night, but at least tomorrow he’d be back in his own bed. 

“Speaking of which,” Peter said, when Neal said as much, “did your doctor tell you what time they’d be letting you go tomorrow?”

“Late morning, I guess,” Neal said. 

“I have a meeting at eleven,” Peter said, glancing at El. “Do you have client meetings tomorrow?”

“One at ten and one at two, but the one at ten shouldn’t go for more than an hour. I can drop you off in the morning and then -”

“I’ll pick Caffrey up from the hospital,” Seigel interrupted. “The two of you don’t need to worry about it.”

Elizabeth looked like she might argue, but Peter shot her a look and she fell silent. “Thank you, David,” was all Peter said. 

“I’ll come see you after work, then,” Elizabeth said, and leaned down to brush her lips across Neal’s forehead. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah, get some rest,” Peter said. His hand landed on Neal’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’ll see you tomorrow. David, can we give you a lift?” he added, glancing toward Seigel.

“No, thanks, I’ll just take the subway. I wanted a word with Caffrey.”

Peter nodded. He wrapped his arm around El’s waist and they left.

Neal looked at Seigel. Seigel, standing at the foot of his bed, looked back. “You know,” Seigel said, after a moment or two of silence, “I was told - I was _warned_ \- that I was walking into an unusual situation. My boss in Chicago wouldn’t give me a lot of details, but he said that you and Agent Burke had an odd reputation.”

“Do we?” Neal said, trying not to sound too innocent.

Seigel nodded. “I couldn’t make head or tails of it. It was obvious to me that Agent Burke needed someone to take over with you because of his promotion. It didn’t occur to me until I got here to wonder why he hadn’t chosen someone from within the office.”

“You had a CI in Chicago,” Neal said. “It couldn’t have been that different.”

Seigel shook his head. “It was _worlds_ different, Caffrey. Don’t get me wrong, I had a good relationship with my CI. I liked him. Putting cuffs on him was hard, but I did it. That was my job right then. But I never invited him over to my place for drinks, never introduced him to my girlfriend.”

“Your point?” Neal said, possibly a little testily. He didn’t much like this conversation. 

“My _point_ , Caffrey,” Seigel said, taking a step forward and leaning a little against the mattress, “is that I get it now. I get why Peter needed someone else to take over with you. Because if push came to shove and he had to slap cuffs on you - he couldn’t.”

Neal fought the urge to drop his eyes. “Is this going to be a problem?” he asked. 

Seigel shook his head. “I’m not going to go poking around. I don’t care what you did on Agent Burke’s watch. I care what you do on my watch. You’re clearly going to have a relationship of some kind with Agent Burke no matter who your handler is. All right.” He crossed his arms over his chest and met Neal’s eyes steadily. “But I’m your handler now. That means that if you have information or get in trouble or whatever, I need you to come to me. Not to him. To _me._ Because that’s the only way I can keep you safe and out of prison. That’s the only way I can do my job.”

Neal looked at him. He thought about Peter, stealing the tape from the Howser Clinic for him all those years ago, holding him after Kate’s plane exploded, working with him to open the sub, forgiving him after El’s kidnapping. He thought of all the times Elizabeth had been kind to him, even when she shouldn’t have been, of how kind she’d been to him even just that afternoon, apologizing to him after everything. _We’re family_ , Peter had said that night, when he’d told Neal that he was going to pick someone from outside the division to take over as his handler. 

Seigel was a lot of things. He was probably even a decent guy. But he wasn’t part of Neal’s family, and he didn’t want to be. 

The lie came easily. “Of course,” Neal said. “I’ll come to you if I need to.”

Seigel frowned at him, but after a moment he nodded. “Thank you. Now feel better, all right? Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Neal nodded. Seigel left, and Neal leaned back, relaxing, then wincing as his ribs protested. He hadn’t realized how tensely he’d been holding himself. He wondered if Seigel played chess, and if so, what kind of chess player he was. 

This was going to be interesting. 

_Fin._


End file.
